But you started them, Ford's mind accused. It wasn't as though Ford had asked for things to move so quickly, or for any of the dozen little things Macnair had done while they were together that started to make it feel like it was more than just fooling around. Macnair had kissed him and whispered mine; he'd signed his letters yours. Ford had tried to keep his feelings out of things, to remain casual and detached, but it wasn't possible under those conditions. It was as though Macnair was leading him into a lake where they'd both agreed to only get their feet wet, and Ford followed him without thinking until he eventually stopped to look around and realized he was already chest-deep in water and if he kept on this way he was going to drown. So yes, he'd ended things. What else was he supposed to do?

"Why do you care what I'm — being like," Ford returned rather clumsily. His cheeks flushed but he continued all the same. "You're clearly not hung up on it so just — sit somewhere you can't see me and forget we ever talked tonight."

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